


If I Stay

by Bhelryss



Category: Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: F/M, it's messy and short and i won't apologize! it was nice to write something fun, starts out with gender neutral language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 23:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17734388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhelryss/pseuds/Bhelryss
Summary: (She is a woman and a knight, and lovesick, and not ashamed of any of it.)





	If I Stay

There are fingers under her shirt, a hand braced against the wall. She leans forward to capture another’s lips, her own hands finding steady holds at the other’s collar and at their hip. It’s a stolen moment, a hidden moment, a hungry moment. Kisses aren’t enough, the fingers under her shirt aren’t enough, so she pulls the other in closer, closer, as if they could melt into each other.

They oblige.

In the morning Vanessa pretends it never happened. She goes about her duties and smothers down any daydreams of gentle touches and an intolerable heat that cannot be cooled. Tamps down on any urges to sigh wistfully under the blinding brightness of a morning sun, in favor of being extra attentive to the details unfolding in front of her. She is a knight, not a damsel, she is a knight, not a lovesick fool.

(She is a woman and a knight, and lovesick, and not ashamed of any of it.)

In the morning she is held, not by arms but by the embrace of her armor, the shining plates brighter in the morning light than the stars that had been reflected in her eyes. Her hands close tight over her lance, not over other hands, hands just as strong as her own. The wind ruffles her bangs across her forehead, and she does not think of slow hands pushing hair out of her eyes, gentle hands slipping her ponytail out of its hold and letting it fall slowly to rest along her back. 

She is a knight, and her attention is on her job. Her paperwork, her recruits. A captain’s job is never over, even if sometimes it is dull. (And she prefers it, that dullness. She likes it, when she sees trainees who have never seen a battlefield, when one of those young girls marvels at a pegasus for the first time and doesn’t have the accompanying memories of blood and sweat that so many of her seniors have.)

Nightmares plague them both. Vanessa wakes up, sweating underneath their arm, a lance in her empty hand and a blistering numbness across her ribs where a scar now rests. They wake up shaking, voice tight with choked back screams, the smell of death in their nose and the weight of a war on their shoulders. Some nights they hold each other. Some nights they walk the perimeter of the room together, too tired to leave but too awake to stay in bed. (It is a compromise, it is a fear of what might lair outside, it is a defensive curl around the parts of them that ache rawest in the dark.)

Some nights Vanessa holds on blindly, only the heartbeat under her hands easing the horrible things that cling to the backs of her eyelids and lie hazy in the fuzz of every shadow. Some nights it’s their turn, fingers twitching with battle memories but holding on just as tight. In the morning she will away, in the morning it’s back to her lances and her armor, she is a knight, not a fool. But in the dark they have no ranks, no titles, no duties or promises or solemn oaths. They are simply themselves, in a way they will never be in the light.

Vanessa leaves first, in the mornings. It’s not her rooms, it’s not her house. Her house is a cold little thing, big enough for Vanessa, Syrene, and two others, and empty. No one lives there anymore, with Syrene stationed at the border long-term (her request), their roommates killed during the war, and Vanessa spending her days and nights on the castle grounds.

It is, however, not her home.

(Home is a place within the circle of their arms, hair tickling at her cheek and cold toes on her thigh, warm words and warmer gazes. Home is a small hall in the far north, the old worn carpets and the creak of a rocking chair. Home is laughter, and feathers in her mouth, joy in the face of winds strong enough to tear a man from his saddle, and the double-beat of her heart and another’s.)

Some mornings the nightmares follow her into the light. She’s jumpy, and if her attention wanders the sounds of battle drift in from far away, like her memories exist in the room at the end of a hallway just waiting to swallow her back up. On those kinds of days Vanessa’s hands shake with a tremor that won’t go away, and her mind shivers. She wishes for their hands, warm in hers and stabilizing, wishes for a quiet moment where she can recenter herself in the present. 

But her heart is a double-beat, and Titania will always be there. The shakes in her hands do not matter, because no matter how messy the braids in Titania’s mane, no one will judge her. She is a veteran, a captain, a survivor. She is allowed her difficult days, she needs to remind herself. They are allowed, and their existence is no failing of hers. She doubts anyone came away from this war of theirs entirely whole.

Nightmares, scars, holes in hearts where a beloved soul should fit.

(Vanessa counts herself lucky only to be burdened by the first two. Nightmares she will suffer through, knowing that with time their terrifying edges will dull. Scars she will bear, without complaint. Weather makes the one above her knee ache, and she will never feel again, where that scar blooms across her ribs. She is lucky, she knows.)

Dusk isn’t night, but it’s close enough. She knows the guard shifts, knows the little corners where no eyes will see her, and them. (They ought to be fixed, but an enemy couldn’t exploit them, and some days she needs them.) She brings the back of their hand to her cheek, and closes her eyes. “Don’t go,” she asks, a whisper. The core of her is cold and bleeding, the past too close for comfort, and her heart aches for them. An anchor against despair, a hand holding her above storm-whipped waves, a heart she loves above all others.

“I wouldn’t. I won’t.”

A promise like a lifeline, she squeezes her eyes shut and curls into them. “It’s been a rough day,” she explains, though she doesn’t have to. There is no need for an excuse, support, love, affection, and  _ trust _ burn through every point of contact, warming her to her bones. It hasn’t been anything she can’t withstand though, she knows her limits.

Nothing more than she can bear. If she buckles, they’ll catch her.

“What do you need,” a whisper in the back of her mind, as she sits at the edge of their bed. She needs to leave soon, if she wants to keep pretending. “What do you  _ want _ ,” the whisper in the back of her mind asks. Innes throws out a hand in his sleep, and she rests her hand on top of his. He sighs, and rolls over onto his side to watch her. 

“Leaving?” He blinks in the pre-dawn gloom, her candle on the dresser granting just enough light for her to ready herself. They both hate this part, and she feels guilt for her share of the choice. If she were willing to admit to the world, willing to take on everything that comes with loving him and everything that comes with committing to him...but she isn’t.

She can’t, yet. Her dreams, her heart...they are in conflict and she can’t choose.

“Yeah,” she breathes, tempted to lean back and lie against him for just a few hours longer. “Duties,” she says, but the word is dry, flaking. She thinks of staying, though, a temptation she almost can’t fight. His talented fingers, his drive, her well hidden competitive streak, her dedication...she tries not to think of it. The dawn is coming, and with it all her duties, all her responsibilities. 

If only it could just be them, Innes and Vanessa, without it being  _ them _ .  _ Prince _ Innes,  _ Captain _ Vanessa. If only it could just be them.

“If I stay,” Vanessa sighs, “then we’ll…” She knows what he wants. She knows what  _ she _ wants, her heart torn two ways. She falls quiet, and sighs. Her other boot lays quiet on the floor.

“We’re making this work,” Innes says firmly, a reassurance. “We’ll find our compromise, what I can give, what you will take.” With time, she knows. With time, their struggles will be answered with something so easy, that their troubles seem silly. But they are not there yet, and Vanessa is plagued with nightmares of crowns and abandoned lances, with sparkling daydreams of a general’s wings and a warm hand in hers. 

“With time,” she agrees, and then sighs again. Her boot, her duties...she needs to go. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.”


End file.
